


The Spice of Life

by Santillatron



Series: Just what do a retired Angel and Demon do with their time anyway? [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale is a bastard (Good Omens), Crowley can't catch a break (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Pranks, Smut, Temptation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-31 12:22:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21446149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Santillatron/pseuds/Santillatron
Summary: Crowley is determined to get back at Aziraphale, and thinks he has the perfect plan. Unfortunately he has underestimated his Angel once again. Aziraphale takes full advantage of this.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Just what do a retired Angel and Demon do with their time anyway? [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1526987
Comments: 5
Kudos: 132





	The Spice of Life

**Author's Note:**

> Can be read as a stand alone, although it's more fun if you've read the others first.

The bell above the door of A. Z. Fell & Co.’s bookshop was specifically there to alert the proprietor to any would-be customers entering the premises. The door itself was designed to keep them out. But occasionally the owner would instruct it to let the world in, and a hand would push the door, the door would open, the bell would chime and the Angel would peer over to see who had entered the shop. It had purpose, it had authority. 

The door also had long-standing orders as to certain entities that were never to be permitted access, and certain, specific, Demonic persons who were to be granted ingress at all times (well, except for certain moments such as when the owner was summoning the Metatron, but that really was for the Demon’s own safety, and since letting itself be opened under false pretences by that dubious Shadwell fellow, the door was not taking any chances. Or if Crowley was irritating him and he was feeling petty). 

And so door and bell, bell and door, working together to guard the Northern gate had formed an arrangement of their own, that resulted in a single bell being able to chime in far more pitches than it should have been capable of. It turns out when you are part of an Angel’s domain certain fundamental rules become a bit more of a guideline really.

Not that Crowley knew any of this of course, but he often wondered how Aziraphale always knew when it was him entering during the erratic opening hours that the Angel kept. 

And so, as evening approached, the door dutifully opened, the bell rang out loud and clear (C#) and the Angel’s heart leapt. 

“Back here Crowley!” He called out.

Crowley glared at the bell, but it ignored him. Plants might fear this snake Demon, but the little bell was made of stronger stuff. 

Crowley turned back to the matter in hand, immediately reverting to his usual louche manner. “Hey Angel! Thought you might fancy some dinner. There’s a new place opened up that looks tempting. Bit different from your usual fare though. Up for it?” He’d tried for his usual care-free approach, but couldn’t stop himself emphasising the ‘tempting’ a little. He was a Demon after all, and a Demon with a plan. One he’d actually put some thought into, that had little chance of injury this time.

“Oh? Different how?” Aziraphale was wary. He knew he and Crowley didn’t always agree on taste, but he trusted the Demon. A concept that never stopped amusing him.

“You’ll see. Come on.”

Oh. So it was to be one of those nights was it? Aziraphale would need to watch his wily adversarytonight then. Hopefully he’d learned his lesson from startling him last time, but you never knew. 

A short ride in the Bentley (it should have been longer but, hey, speed limits are for cowards) and one wild abandonment into a space that was sure it wasn’t designated for parking a moment ago, and they had arrived. 

“Curry?” Aziraphale raised an inquisitive eyebrow at his companion.

“Fusion cuisine Angel, and they take a special interest in ancient and traditional recipes. They’ve managed to recreate some dishes from Mesopotamia would you believe? With a little, modern twist.” The innocence in the Demon’s voice was betrayed by a noticeable upturn to his lips and a stare that meandered everywhere but at the Angel. 

“Have they now?” The Angel remarked, suspicion openly dripping from his words, as he examined the Demon from the corner of his eye. 

Crowley leaned in, conspiratorially eyeing his trusted adversary over his sunglasses, and doing that thing with his mouth that he knew always got Aziraphale’s attention, and murmured “And I hear the puddings are frankly sssinful.”

Aziraphale stood up a bit straighter. “Well in that case, henceforth immediately for the sake of all the souls!” And if it came out a little too fast and a little too breathy as his eyes were locked on the Demon’s lips, well, seeing Crowley so pleased with himself as the Angel felt the blush creep up was worth it. 

They settled themselves at a table in the corner, and a waitress appeared immediately. 

“Mr Crowley! So good to see you!” She said with a beaming smile. “Would you like your usual sir?”

Crowley gave a small nod, smiling. 

“And for your guest?” She motioned towards the Angel.

“Oh he’ll have the chef’s special.” Crowley said quickly. 

She paused, raising one skeptical eyebrow but disappeared off with the order.

“So just how many times have you tried out this new place then, O foul fiend?” Aziraphale inquired innocently. 

Balls. Busted. 

“Well I needed to find out just how accurate their claims of ancient recipes were. Didn’t want to take you out somewhere sub par Angel.”

Aziraphale merely pursed his lips. Of course Crowley would have done his homework, he always did. But the waitress’s expression had left him a little uneasy at what the Demon had been planning.

Their food arrived, along with a promising bottle of wine, and Aziraphale decided whatever the Demon had been up to, at least he would face it well fed. 

“I brought you out some Sahlab as well.” The waitress said, depositing the drink next to Aziraphale’s plate carefully. “Just in case.” And swiftly departed again. 

Aziraphale was feeling nervous again. Crowley had that hungry look on his face like something nefarious was about to happen, but Aziraphale couldn’t work out what. 

Crowley felt electric. He hadn’t felt like this since taking down the mobile network. He didn’t get up to much Demonic activity these days, but by Satan he missed this feeling. The buzz just as everything came together. He watched Aziraphale’s fork full of food as he brought it delicately to his mouth, unaware that his own lips had parted slightly in synchronisation. 

Aziraphale had spent a long time in Crowley’s company now, and even with his sunglasses on he could tell the Demon was watching his fork. He paused momentarily just before he put the food into his mouth, and noted the way Crowley leaned forward ever so slightly, and parted his lips as if to urge the fork to continue its journey. So. It was something to do with the food then. He let the fork continue its mission, and gently drew the food into his mouth. He inspected the texture, savoured the taste, allowed the sensory experience to fully take over. Crowley had been right, this meal was a little slice of history. It brought back memories of places and people long since vanished into the mists of time. Well, most of them. It also brought back memories of long cochineal hair cascading like a waterfall that had swallowed a burning star. He’d imaged it would be what molten rock would look like if someone taught it poetry. He realised he had closed his eyes, and opened them again to that intense, shrouded stare that always accompanied his companion. 

“That good eh? Not too hot or spicy for you?” Crowley said as nonchalantly as he could. 

“Well now you mention it, it does have quick a kick I suppose” Aziraphale said, considering it. “But as you well know I handle rather hot and frequently spicy on a daily basis.” He let his gaze openly wander up and down the languid form next to him as he said this. He noted with satisfaction how Crowley’s mouth dropped fully open at this, but then, curiously, shut again with a look of disappointment as Crowley sat back in his chair. Aziraphale realised too late that, that was his plan. He had made the assumption that because Aziraphale didn’t eat a lot of spicy food, that he didn’t enjoy a bit of heat on his palate, but he was no stranger to heat. Good grief, when they met he’d had a flaming sword. ‘Flaming like anything!’ to quote a certain serpent. Besides, if he didn’t enjoy a bit of spice in his life he wouldn’t have been drawn to Crowley now, would he. Not to mention… well, yes, in some circumstances let’s just say he liked hot and spicy a great deal. 

“That’s only my first impression though. I’ll need to reserve full judgement until I have sampled it all.” Aziraphale tried. His foolish fiend perked up a bit at that, and a plan of his very own began to form. 

As they ate, and chatted, Aziraphale allowed the heat in the dish to outwardly affect him a bit more than he normally would. He let his face flush, and his body heat rise. 

“Oh bother, it’s rather warm in here wouldn’t you say?” He said as he removed his jacket. 

Crowley gulped. Seeing his Angel so deliciously flushed was really testing his willpower, and now he was going to start removing clothing?! This wasn’t exactly how he had envisioned this evening, but he certainly wasn’t complaining. Well, some bits of his anatomy were, but the treacherous thing would have to wait. 

“Is everything ok with the food?” The waitress was back. She was surreptitiously eyeing up the Angel’s plate, and his untouched milky accompaniment with reserved admiration, so missed Crowley hastily relocating a napkin from the table. Most people that tried the chef’s special would be asking for more Sahlab at this point.

“Oh yes my dear! Please pass my commendation on to the chef for her attention to detail on these ancient recipes. You’d almost think she’d been there herself!” The blonde one said. She frowned a little at his phrasing and the tone he used. Maybe he was a food historian? As she turned to check on the other diners she missed the very subtle, but pointed, look he was giving that dear Mr Crowley. 

“S’nothing to do with me Angel. Just pointed them in the direction of a few websites to reference.” Crowley sulked slightly. And if he’d been the one to create the websites, well the stupendously technology-adverse Angel would never prove it. Tonight’s plan was not going his way at all. Again. He just couldn't get his shit together when it came to the Angel. As he glanced back over the table he realised Aziraphale was removing his waistcoat and placing it carefully over the back of the chair next to him. His fork stopped midway up to his mouth. The Angel rarely ever took his waistcoat off outside the bookshop or his flat. He looked almost naked without it. It was scandalous! He shifted awkwardly in his chair.

Aziraphale noticed the hovering fork. He waited patiently for it to continue on its trajectory, pretending to be oblivious to the holder’s sudden apparent discomfort. He could feel Crowley’s eyes trailing greedily all over him, as they had done so many times before when he thought his sunglasses kept him hidden. But Aziraphale always knew what was going on behind that obsidian glass. 

Which is why he waited until Crowley had a mouthful of wine before he began to meticulously roll up his shirt sleeves. 

“Crowley my dear, are you OK?” He asked sweetly. “Is the wine not to your taste?”

“Ngk! No Angel, it’s lovely, um, just went down the wrong way is all.” He hoped Aziraphale wouldn’t mention that they didn’t actually need to breathe. Now Crowley could feel his hands itching to touch. He could see the muscles in the Angel’s forearm shifting enticingly under the skin as he manipulated his fork. Aziraphale stabbed at something on his plate and splashed some of the sauce onto the pale skin on the inside of his forearm. Crowley had to bite his tongue to stop himself launching across the table and licking it clean in the most obscene way he could think of. He tried to think of something else while the Angel delicately scooped it up with a finger, which he then, oh Satan, he popped into his mouth and licked clean as if he had no idea what Crowley’s body was doing right now. He desperately needed anything that would stop him becoming the hot mess he was rapidly approaching. Hastur’s face was usually a good option in this sort of situation. He just about managed to compose himself enough to take another mouthful of food when he heard a silky sound. He looked back towards his bastard Angel with dread, and sure enough, he was achingly slowly untying his bowtie. With each step Aziraphale made sure to pull the end completely free, and smooth down the material with his fingers. It was a proper bowtie of course, so he could leave the two ends dangling enticingly down his broad chest, just begging to be grabbed and used to pull that divine body closer. And of course the top two buttons of the shirt was next. Exposing more of that agonisingly inviting neck, and the promise of a collarbone. Crowley could see the artery pulsing under the flushed skin. He dropped his fork with a loud crashing sound onto his plate. 

“Dear boy, are you sure you’re ok?” Aziraphale asked, his voice full of nothing but the most innocent concern. He dropped his voice lower. “Do I need to take you home?” His eyes were searching for reassurance, but his lips, his plump, glistening, pink lips, were twitching with the effort of not grinning in the most unholy manner. He knew Crowley was watching them, so he purposefully dragged his tongue over his bottom lip, before pulling the lip between his teeth. Purely down to him worrying about his Demon, of course. 

Crowley snapped. His will power snapping only moments before his fingers followed suit. The two of them reappeared at the bookshop, along with the Angel’s discarded clothing folded neatly on his desk. The bill was miraculously paid, along with a generous tip. The Bentley could be picked up later. Aziraphale was sat in the middle of his sofa with Crowley stood before him.

“Oh but I didn’t get any pudding!” Aziraphale pouted, looking up at the snarling Demon with his big, open, innocent eyes. 

“I’ll make it up to you.” Crowley growled.

Aziraphale dealt his coup de gras with a happy wiggle that ended with a gleeful shriek as his wily adversary groaned, resigned himself to his fate, and threw himself at the devious Angel. 

When Crowley went back the next morning the Bentley was a bit put out at being abandoned, so she played Celine Dion’s All By Myself all the way home as loudly as possible. 


End file.
